The Death of a Hero
by Aria Gray
Summary: What was everyone thinking while Harry lay, feigning death at Voldemort's feet?  These are the stories of the other heroes who were present that night and how the death of a hero inspired them to keep fighting.


"Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone."

Minerva watched the horror struck faces in the crowd around her. No one was sure whether to believe what he'd said, but she could tell that they feared the worst. The large oak doors leading out into the grounds stood open, letting in the pale moonlight and bathing the worried faces within, but no one moved toward it. No one wanted to confirm his words.

Minerva's eyes landed on two faces she hardly recognized through their fear. Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger stood gaping at each other. They looked as though they had grown ten years since she had last seen them. They were battle scarred and bloody but through the fear and grief in their eyes she saw something more: They had been hardened somehow. They were no longer the children she had known and taught, but adults who had seen more in this world than anyone could have expected of them. Tears were already streaming down Miss Granger's face and Mr. Weasley looked to bein shock. Everyone was worried, but Minerva knew that none were so worried as Harry's two best friends. They knew better than anyone that Harry would have willingly sacrificed himself if it meant saving the rest of them. She could see in their eyes that they already believed the Dark Lord's words to be true. Harry had gone into the forest never intending to see beyond it again.

Minerva couldn't handle the suspense any longer. She knew someone would have to take the first step. She moved toward the doors and peered out into the darkness. She stood alone, struggling to make out the figures that stood before her. She could feel the eyes of everyone in the entrance hall upon her. She could feel the eyes of the Death Eaters outside as well. It was as if the whole world were suspended, waiting for her words to spring it back to life.

"No!" she heard herself scream and barely recognized the pain and terror in her own voice. Her eyes had adjusted and she could see the limp, lifeless form of Harry Potter in Hagrid's arms. He was dead. The thought coursed through her mind over and over like a mantra: _He's dead. He's dead. He's dead._ The little boy with the curious green eyes, his mother's eyes, who she had watched grow. She had watched him struggle through life, smiling all the while, never wholly giving in to the grief and despair that should have consumed him all along. She had watched him grow from that nervous little boy who thought he was a Muggle into a strong young man, surprising her every day with his perseverance, his bravery, and his strength. She had watched him, the curiosity that had so endeared him to her never leaving his eyes, but grieving her as the light slowly drained from them and she watched them harden with each loss that he experienced.

And now he was gone. He was dead. That little boy who had come to mean so much more to all of them. He had been their hope, their savior, their guide, and now, at last, their martyr…

She barely noticed the people beginning to crowd around her in the doorway but their presence drew her back into reality. With one last look at the man who looked again like the little boy, she wiped a solitary tear from her cheek and turned away.

-888-

Hermione pushed through the crowd gathered in the doorway, struggling to see through the tears that were nearly blinding her. She didn't want to see, but she had too. Professor McGonagall's scream had confirmed the worst, but Hermione wouldn't believe it until she could be absolutely certain. She saw McGonagall turn away from the doorway, clearing Hermione's view out into the grounds. Without warning she saw him. The world stopped.

She couldn't speak; she couldn't cry. She was paralyzed and numb. It was over. Harry was gone forever. She had known his death was a possibility but even though she had already seen more death than any seventeen year old should have to see, she wasn't prepared for this.

A small boy, sitting in a train compartment, his lap covered with candy wrappers and his face covered with a grin flashed before her eyes. A moment later, she watched as he latched himself onto a giant troll in the girls' bathroom. Now he was sitting at a table in the great hall, eating breakfast, not talking, just being there, with her, were he'd always been it seemed. They were sitting together in the library, then flying on Buckbeak to rescue Sirius, then joking as they walked into Professor Moody's classroom. Now she saw him clutching Cedric's body; now teaching them defense in the Room of Requirement.

"No!" someone shouted and the sound reawakened her.

"Harry!" she screamed, not knowing that is was she who had made the noise. Everyone was shouting now and Hermione longed to join them, longed to be doing anything besides standing here, looking out at the dead body of her best friend, but she couldn't speak.

She tried to turn away but couldn't. She heard Voldemort talking but his words were nothing more to her than meaningless sounds. At last she forced herself to close her eyes. As she did she felt a part of herself die with Harry.

-888-

Hagrid lowered Harry gently to the ground at Voldemort's feet and Ron felt swelling anger eclipse the grief he had been feeling. Voldemort may have taken Harry's life, but he wouldn't take his dignity. He rushed forward to take on Voldemort himself and avenge his friend, but someone grabbed him from behind. He turned, ready to curse whoever had stopped him, but stopped when he saw his sister's tear stained face.

"No," she mouthed and Ron obeyed without knowing why.

"He was nothing, ever, but a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him!" Ron heard Voldemort shout and he could hold back no longer.

"He beat you!" he yelled and heard the others shouting around him before they were silenced.

He couldn't deal with this. It was like nothing he'd felt before. First his brother, his indestructible older brother, and now his best friend. The boy he had spent nearly every day with for seven years. The man he had loved more than a brother. He wanted to fight, to cause pain to appear on every face he could see laughing out on the grounds and then watch as he extinguished the light in their eyes one by one. He wanted to kill. To avenge Harry Potter.

-888-

Neville couldn't take it anymore. He knew Harry hadn't tried to abandon them and he wasn't going to let Voldemort say such terrible things about him. He had seen Harry on his way into the forest and had believed him when he said he wasn't turning himself over. What a fool he had been. If only he had stopped him. He couldn't restrain himself any longer. Harry had been so good and so kind and so brave and Neville wasn't going to watch and do nothing while Voldemort kept him at his feet. He hardly knew what he was doing when he ran forward, his wand raised. He tried to shout a curse Voldemort but before he could do more than descend the steps of the castle, had had been disarmed, stunned, and thrown to the ground.

He felt no fear as the Death Eaters and Voldemort spoke above him. He was going to die and he didn't care. He only felt an anger more fierce than anything he had ever felt before. He pulled himself up off the ground and looked bravely into the red slits that were Voldemort's eyes.

"But you are a pureblood, aren't you, my brave boy?" Voldemort asked him.

"So what if I am?" Neville boldly retorted.

He couldn't believe it. Voldemort was actually trying to recruit him. He was standing only feet away from the dead body of his friend, of Harry, and Voldemort actually thought he would join him.

With a surge of anger he said, "I'll join you when hell freezes over," and then shouted, "Dumbledore's Army!" He heard cheers from the crowd still huddled in the doorway.

And then something strange happened. Voldemort had summoned something from the castle and Neville watched with growing perplexity as the sorting hat flew into his hands. Voldemort was talking but Neville was barely listening. The snake. Harry had told him to kill the snake. It was slithering around on the ground and Neville tried to think of a way to get to it without Voldemort noticing. Before he could do anything though, he found himself unable to move. Voldemort had put the full Body-Bind curse on him and all Neville's hope of fulfilling Harry's last request vanished. Voldemort pulled the sorting hat down over Neville's head and eyes and all the sounds around him vanished.

"Ah, Longbottom," said the hat inside his head, "I remember you. You were not particularly easy to sort."

"I'm a Gryffindor!" Neville thought proudly, with all his might. He thought back to his sorting when the hat had tried to put him in Hufflepuff. He had spent a long time after that wondering if the sorting hat had judged incorrectly. But now he had fought. He had fought hard and no one was ever going to tell him he wasn't Gryffindor material again.

"A Gryffindor indeed," the hat answered and Neville felt something hard hit his head inside the hat. Before he could think what it could be, Neville felt a terrible pain. The sorting hat had grown unbearably hot and he felt as though he was on fire.

And then just as suddenly, he could move. The sorting hat fell from his head and, in a flash of understanding, Neville knew what he had felt hit his head.

From the depths of the sorting hat he pulled the sword of Gryffindor and without hesitating, he fell upon the snake, killing it with one slice. He watched disbelievingly as the snakes head spun against the dawning sky.

He had done it! He had killed the snake! Harry's last request of him had been completed. He hadn't disappointed him. He looked in the face of death as Voldemort raised his wand, anger etched in his expression the likes of which Neville had never seen before. He waited for the final curse to hit him, but it never came. He had been shielded somehow.

"Thanks, Harry," he thought without knowing why, and then rushed forward to fight for Harry Potter.

-888-

Charlie could hear a commotion over the wall and knew they would have to act fast. They had heard Voldmort's announcement that Harry had been killed and the screams that followed confirmed it as truth. He couldn't believe it. He didn't want to.

The army that he and Slughorn had assembled had lost much of their enthusiasm for battle upon hearing the news of Harry's death. It seemed they had lost all hope. He looked around at all of their faces, some of them stained with tears, some of them blank with shock. All around there were whispers of turning back, of going home and waiting. Waiting for death to greet them at their doorsteps rather than facing it head on. He couldn't let them give up. There was still hope, and even if there wasn't, he wouldn't let Harry's death be in vain. They had to at least try to fight. They had to make a final stand.

They were all looking at him now. He didn't know whether they would follow him into battle, and he had no words to convince them. He said the only thing he could think to say.

"For Harry."

Without another word he turned around and climbed the wall, not bothering to see if his army would follow. As he dropped down on the other side he heard a cheer well up behind him.

"For Harry!" they all shouted as one and he knew the fight was not yet over.

-888-

Ginny fought furiously, but wasn't really aware that she was doing so. Her mind was so far from the battle that she was amazed she hadn't yet been killed. She was vaguely aware that she was fighting Bellatrix Lestrange, and that someone was helping her, but she neither knew nor cared what was happening around her. She had no thoughts of revenge. She had no thoughts of the war. She had no thoughts for anything except Harry.

Strangely, she wasn't focused on the past. She wasn't remembering the moments she had spent with him and how blissfully happy they had been. She was instead thinking of the future. She pictured clearly in her mind the future she and Harry were supposed to have; the future that they now never would. She saw their reunion after the war, their wedding, the birth of their first child, Christmases at the Burrow, kisses in the rain, fights over nothing and every other moment that had been taken from them.

They were supposed to grow old together and if they couldn't have that, Harry was at least supposed to grow old. Now he never would. He would never grow beyond the seventeen year old who taught her what it was to love. He was a child still in age, though not in mind, and he would never really become a man. He would remain eternally poised on the verge of a life that could have been wonderful. A life he could have spent with her.

Ginny felt a curse whizz past her ear, missing her by mere inches but didn't care. She vaguely heard her mother scream something and was thrown back. She could have gotten back up and rejoined the fight, but didn't. It didn't matter. None of it did. Harry was gone. Their Harry was dead; their hope. Her Harry was dead; her Harry.

-888-

"NOT MY DAUGHTER YOU BITCH!" Molly heard herself scream and she was in combat. Bellatrix Lestrange was going to die tonight and it would be by her hand, and her hand alone.

Two of her sons had been killed tonight. She could still see their lifeless forms. First Fred, laid out in the great hall, not joking, not laughing, not making anything explode, then Harry. Poor, sweet Harry. He had sacrificed himself for them, she knew.

She had seen the curse fly past Ginny's ear and had, for one moment, believed she had lost her only daughter, her youngest child. It didn't matter that Ginny had lived. It wasn't about Ginny or even Fred or Harry. It wasn't even about her family. It was about Bellatrix Lestrange and all the families she had torn apart. Bellatrix Lestrange would never raise her wand again and she would see to that tonight. She didn't care if she never walked away from the battle, because Bellatrix wouldn't either. Of that she could be sure.

The green light left her wand and she knew a split second before it hit Bellatrix that she had succeeded. Bellatrix fell to the ground and Molly turned to face her new opponent. She looked into the red slit eyes of Voldemort and felt a hatred more powerful even than love. She would die fighting him, she knew, but she would die fighting, and that was all that mattered.

And then she heard it. "Protego," someone shouted and she knew that voice. She knew it as well as if it belonged to one of her own children.

Harry had lived. He stood there before her, very much alive and she felt relief wash over her. A battle still lay before him but she had no fear. He would win. She knew he would win. He was Harry Potter. Their hope. Their guide. Their savior. He was Harry Potter: The Boy Who Lived.

* * *

A/N: All quotes marked with an asterisk are taken from Chapter 36 of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. They are J.K. Rowlings's words and not mine. The page numbers from the American edition are as follows:

728, 731, 731, 731, 736

Thanks for reading! I'm not really sure what to think about this so please review and let me know what you think!


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